Its Just The End of The World, Baby
by carnagekiid
Summary: Gilbert thought for a moment, leaning back enough to get comfortable on the log. Ivan watched in disbelief as he surveyed the other's actions. He threw his head back, a wide, almost morbid smile twisting across pale features. "It's the end of the world, baby." He declared, "We've gotta do whatever it takes to survive this shit-hole for as long as we can."


**A/N: So, lissomeyart on tumblr requested some rusprus angst, and since I couldn't draw for a while (jammed my finger in soccer) I decided to write something for them instead. I've had this idea for a long time and the request finally motivated me to sit down and write it. Enjoy!**

 **Estimated Reading Time: 35-40 minutes**

 *****Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or any of the characters**

 *****Warnings: Language, Major Depictions of Violence, Blood, Gore, The Undead, Brief Mentions of Sexual Intercourse, Murder, Suicide, Major Character Death, Sickness, Death**

 _ **It's Just the End of the World, Baby**_

One. Two. Three.

" _C'mon Gil, we're almost there!"_

One.

Two.

Three.

" _Please, just hold on a little longer."_

One. Two. Three.

" _No, no, NO! You can't leave me…"_

Ivan sat against the withered wall of an abandoned storage shed. The relentless pounding on the garage door refused to cease as he brought the butt of his shotgun down to strike the concrete floor. Steadily, he tapped the well-known Morse Code rhythm of SOS. Three short knocks, three long, three short.

One. Two. Three.

One.

Two.

Three.

One. Two. Three.

The opus of dissonant metallic clanging echoed throughout the small space, the sound harsh, yet not unwelcomed. He gripped the limp body strung across his lap tightly as he continued to silently plead for help, the sound of his gun against the floor almost fell in sync with the pounding outside. He was somehow grateful for the noise those monsters were making, it helped to distract him from the overbearing weight of the tragedy that literally rested in his hands. Broken and bloody, Ivan tried to remember the hazy events that led to his ultimate moment of weakness. No matter how hard he tired he could not put the pieces together.

All he knew was that Gilbert was dead.

And it seemed to be his turn next, for the garage of the storage room creaked on its hinges as it was slowly raised, letting the blinding light of the afternoon sun fill the small space, obscuring his vision from the certain death that lay behind the brilliant radiance.

* * *

Ivan had met Gilbert on accident, and what a pleasant mistake it was. The Russian had been traveling on his own for nearly six months. His family had long since died during the outbreak of disease. After that, Ivan had learned to never get close to another, he couldn't be dependent on even a single person, the fear of having them ripped from his grasp was too great, too influential. He still had no knowledge of the state of the rest of the world, he had begun to travel West in hopes of gaining an answer. The mighty Russian Empire had collapsed under the weight of sickness and death, the remaining survivors turning into hideous ghouls with striking resemblance to the walking dead. The Russian had seen his fair share of death and he fought tooth and nail to avoid it himself. However, the inexorable fear of succumbing to his own personal fatality remained prominent as he searched for shelter.

Within time, he was able to collect a gun, ammunition, and a small food supply. He looked like a fearsome Russian warrior, trudging through the snow with long, purposeful strides, thick, heavy linins covering his massive frame, packs of supplies and a shotgun strapped across his back. Not to mention the tattered, bloodstained scarf wrapped protectively around the pale skin of his neck, the fabric billowing abaft him, riding the wind like grand ivory wings. In truth, he was merely a terrified child, cowering behind his intimidating appearance and the soft fabric of his fleece scarf. Ivan grimaced as he stopped for a break, his rations were nearly gone. The majority of his supplies had been purloined from dead bodies he happened to stumble upon, or from those he killed himself…. In no way was he proud of his actions, he was quite ashamed actually, but he did what he had to in order to survive. And what he _had_ to do was find a way to get more food.

To say the least, Ivan was experienced in combat. That in turn, led to all the more surprise as he was pinned to the snow by a man nearly a foot shorter than him. The Russian had seen the smoke of the distant fire, cutting through the crepuscule like a shooting star in the deepest of nights. Ivan was filled with a moment of elation; those _things_ didn't have the brain capacity to build a fire, it had to be another person. In the Slav's mind people translated to _food_ , which was something he was in desperate need of. He quickly pulled a dull knife from the holster strapped to his thick, leather belt. With expert movements, the Russian glided through the layers of trees silently, a seemingly graceful manner so contrary to his sheer size. He peeked out from behind a tree to find the campsite…. _empty?_ That's when the white demon appeared seemingly out of nowhere, tackling him to the ground with a cry of rage as he pressed the cool metal blade of a knife to his exposed throat. Ivan struggled against the hold but ceased his movements as the blade pushed deeper. He let out a small hiss of pain as blood seeped through the small cut, forming droplets of crimson which dripped down his neck before staining the dirty snow below him. Violet eyes slid shut as his muscled tensed once more before relaxing. He was accepting his fate, finally ready to join his sisters.

Suddenly the blade was removed, however the inconnu remained atop him, hips straddling his own as if he were trying to prolong the time he spent sharing his body heat.

The man finally stood, knife poised in front of him as he growled at the Russian. " _Stand."_ He ordered. Now Ivan wasn't one to usually follow such demands, but something in the stranger's voice, the way he held himself, made the Russian rise to his feet. The white demon, as Ivan referred to him due to his wan skin adorned in black clothing, silver hair, and burning scarlet eyes, sized him up, taking a slightly more defensive position in response to Ivan's height. "Who are you a where did you come from." Ivan blinked at the strident sounding German, had he really traveled that far in six months? The Russian was silent, afraid his own voice would betray him from lack of use.

"My name is Ivan," He stated in the native's language, voice shaky, accent thick. "I am from Russia, looking for shelter," he lied.

"Then why the hell do you have that knife?" The man asked, he was much more intelligent than Ivan had taken him for. "Scavengers don't move like that." _Damn_. He had been caught.

"You have food," Ivan said noticing the pouch strung across the stranger's back. "I have food as well." He said quickly. "And a gun, plus supplies." He knew the man had neither because one would be a fool to leave their scarce supplies in the open, especially since Ivan could have been a part of a group. "We can work together." He suggested. "If we combine supplies and skills," He hesitated, trying to find the right words in the foreign language. "Could reward us in end. Besides," He added, slipping his knife back into his holster as a sign of capitulation. "You could have killed me easily, yet you have not."

The albino seemed to consider his options, carefully sorting out the pros and cons in an organized list within his mind. With a sigh, he too returned his knife to the strap on his thigh.

"How can I trust you?" He barked, carmine gaze never leaving Ivan's own mauve one. Thinking quickly, Ivan shrugged his rifle off his shoulder, the demon's hand instinctively flew to the knife's handle, yet he did not draw his weapon. Ivan turned the barrel of the gun towards himself before presenting the man the grip. Carefully, he took it, holding it gently in bandaged hands as if it might shatter beneath his grip. His gorgeous rubies scanned the gun as if it were the most precious of stones. "I haven't held a gun in year," he spoke quietly, more to himself rather than Ivan.

" _Beilschmidt_ ," he said suddenly, eyes back on the Russian. "My name is Gilbert Beilschmidt." Ivan nodded, a pleased smile lazily danced across his face as he relaxed his posture. Gilbert reluctantly handed the firearm back to him, touch lingering longer than it should have. The German started towards the fire, motioning for Ivan to follow.

The pair found themselves seated on dry logs across the flames, the larger of the two taking in every detail of the other's face. His angular facial structure was illuminated by the orange glow of the fire, allowing Ivan to watch the shadows as they danced across pale skin. His nose was slightly crooked, leading the Russian to wonder if it had been broken before. There was also an ugly scar that hadn't been patched up properly running down the left side of his face. Crimson eyes narrowed as Gilbert watched Ivan study him, the intimacy of his gaze making him squirm in his seat.

"So tell me," His words cut through the silence, catching the other's attention. "How did you end up in Germany?" The last war had left Europe in shambles, Russia had soon risen to power, conquering smaller countries such as Belarus and Ukraine, bringing their borders closer to Germany day by day. Although expansion is usually what leads an Empire to remarkable conquest, the new population was in turn responsible for its downfall. All it took was one inexplicable disease to gain some traction before infecting the entirety of Europe, turning citizens into unresponsive monsters with an unquenchable thirst for human blood. No one knows exactly how it happened, just that it was brought over from somewhere in the Americas.

"I began to travel," Ivan paused. "After my sisters were infected." He said hesitantly, lips pursed into a thin line. He was not one to open up easily, he supposed it was the fact of how starved he was for human interaction that loosened his lips. Gilbert was silent, staring at his bandaged hands before speaking softly.

"They got my little brother as well," he confessed through grit teeth. And just like that, the two shared an instantaneous, _unbreakable_ bond. They understood what very few others would.

"Hey Gilbert," Ivan said after a moment of nothing but white-noise. "Do you know what is happening?" The German knew he wasn't asking about their immediate situation, no, he was referring to those affected by the disease, the towns that had been destroyed from both warfare and abandonment, the current state of the world, and more importantly; _where_ they were supposed to go, and _what_ they were supposed to do.

Gilbert thought for a moment, leaning back enough to get comfortable on the log. Ivan watched in disbelief as he surveyed the other's actions. He threw his head back, a wide, almost morbid smile twisting across pale features. " _It's the end of the world, baby_." He declared, "We've gotta do whatever it takes to survive this shit-hole for as long as we can."

Ivan grinned at the response, his new friend filling him with the determination he never thought he'd grasp again.

Stifling the fire, the duo retreated to the trees under the cover of darkness for the night. Gilbert taught the Russian how to climb the skeletons of the decaying redwoods and hook himself in using various clamps and rope.

"It's safer up here," he explained, generously lending Ivan his extra rope and a blanket. "Especially at night." The Russian understood his reason, more than once he had been ambushed in his sleep. After the third time he forced himself to stay awake, gaining little sleep throughout the weeks that passed. But now, with another person watching his back, slumber may come a little easier.

* * *

The two had been traveling together for nearly a month. They had begun on the very Eastern border of Germany and were working their way West in hopes of reaching France. Ivan and Gilbert had fallen into a comfortable little routine. Spend all day walking, swapping stories and bickering about miniscule frustrations (they fought like _hell_ ), take a break, start a fire and huddle close for warmth. The winter was just beginning and both were well aware of the nasty storms that were to come. When night fell, they were forced to sleep close beneath the rotten blankets they had been able to scavenge. They resorted to sleeping on the ground rather than in the trees in case they needed to make a quick getaway. Both had long since gotten over being within close proximity of each other, it was strictly for survival. Spending the harsh winter out in the open was difficult enough, one would be a fool not to take advantage of another's body heat. Gilbert especially considering how broad and warm the Russian was. Their actions of affection were minimal at first. They started side by side, shoulders pressed together under the blankets that did nothing to warm their icy skin. It progressed to Ivan hesitantly gripping Gilbert's middle as he turned to face him, the German said nothing only tensed in the darkness before scooting closer to the larger male and burying his face in that ever present scarf. Ivan smiled softly resting his nose in the albino's hair, inhaling the smell of redwoods, ash, and a hint of beer, a strange yet comforting scent. After that first night it became a periodic occurrence for Gilbert to push against Ivan in their sad excuse for a bed, practically begging to be enclosed in his big, warm, _safe_ arms. Within time the cold became more bitter and Gilbert's slim frame was not fit for the conditions in the slightest. So one evening, he rolled over to face Ivan, reached out with trembling, yet confident hands and began to unbutton his oversized trench coat. The Russian jolted beneath the touch and shot him a confused glance, not moving to stop him however.

" _I'm cold."_ Was his only explanation as he pushed himself into the next layer of Ivan's clothing, wrapping his arms around the larger man's middle. The Russian sighed before re buttoning his coat around the smaller male.

Subsequently, when the time for sleep came, all Ivan had to do was hold his coat open before Gilbert pounced, his body fitting against the others snugly. The Russian didn't mind the sleeping arrangements in the slightest. It felt nice to have another living, breathing person near him again. Plus, it was warm. He tried to convince himself the close proximity was purely survival instinct, yet chapped lips ghosting across the raw skin of his neck and palms pressed flat against his back did not go unnoticed.

* * *

They had been ambushed before, but not by this many people. In the uninhabited forest it was usually only one or two crazies who's minds and bodies had deteriorated from malnutrition.

But now, as they inched closer to Berlin, the scavengers became smarter, more dangerous and the threat of encountering those _things_ augmented. The city skyline was within view when the group of four attacked. They went after Ivan first, hoping to take down the bigger of the two who held the loaded gun.

The Russian easily flipped the man who had jumped onto his back over, using his attacker's own momentum to slam him into the frozen ground. By now the snow had melted, but the air remained brisk with dangerously low temperatures. Ivan dropped to his knees and grabbed a nearby rock, bringing down upon the man's head once, twice, three times, the splattered blood adding to the macabre painting of crimsons across the pale fabric of his scarf. Although it wasn't Ivan's preferred method of killing, he refused to use his gun unless it was an absolute necessity, not wanting to waste the precious ammunition.

He spun towards Gilbert to see him standing still, the other two scavengers backing away from the scene as a woman only feet in front of him gripped a silver pistol in quivering hands. The barrel was pointed at the German's heart and Ivan felt the all-too familiar lump form in his throat and he mentally prepared himself for the death of another person he had so foolishly become attached to. There was something off about the situation however, and in the split-second it took for the Russian to process what was happening, the light faded from Gilbert's eyes and the tension _exploded_. The inexperienced woman hesitated and Gilbert lurched forward to twist the gun out of her grasp, turning it and shooting her right between the eyes. Two more shots fired and the other scavengers were dead before the first body even hit the ground.

Ivan stood on trembling legs and stepped towards the German, who had his back to him.

"Gil- " His words were cut off as said man whipped around and aimed the gun at his chest. His expression was blank, grip on the weapon steady. The albino took a step forward, stuck in some sort of violent trance.

"Gilbert, please." Ivan beseeched, stepping towards the man that could very well end his life. His temerity fell unseen under the burning scarlet gaze. "It is me, _Ivan_." Something similar to recollection flashed briefly across the German's features and he lowered the pistol before surveying the scene around him. The memories of his actions hit him all at once as he pressed a hand to his head in both confusion and embarrassment.

"Shit," he cursed. "I- I'm sorry I seemed to have lost myself there for a moment." He didn't let Ivan respond as he quickly strode to the body of the woman. Unclipping the holster from her belt, he fastened it to his own and slipped the gun inside.

The two went about their work in silence, ransacking the bodies for food and useful tools, adding to their steadily growing amount of supplies. The process didn't bother them anymore; they were just doing what was necessary to stay alive. Ivan didn't question, nor push Gilbert to explain himself, and in turn it frustrated him to no end. This is how things usually went, it was a childish game silently proposed by the Russian, yet he had the patience far beyond his years to wait for Gilbert to give in. He always did, and just about smacked that stupid satisfied smirk off of Ivan's face when he did so.

"I used to be in the military." He confessed as they walked, the gun strapped to his side adding an extra sense of security he hadn't felt in years.

"I see no problem." Ivan reassured him, not even sparing the albino a glance but nonetheless still thankful he decided to opened up. "Just means you are fit to fight. Better chance of survival." Gilbert frowned at the butchered German, they would need to work on that. If they found the time that is, it was quite difficult to relax during the apocalypse. Besides, Gilbert assumed he should be grateful, after all he could have just as easily been speaking terrible Russian at the moment.

The city skyline was drawing closer and closer. By the time they reached its borders the two were able to observe the desolate state of a once grand capital. It really seemed to strike a chord with Gilbert, the destitute environment causing his shoulders to sag in shame. This had been his home, the pride and joy of the German territory, and now it was in ruins. A strong hand landed itself on his shoulder, pulling him back to reality. Ivan's expression was kind, a small, encoring smile tugged at the corner of his lips and his eyes were calm, violent hues speaking what lips could not. It was going to be ok; Ivan would be right beside him the whole time. The Russian's grip loosened then lingered, trailing lightly down his arm before disappearing completely.

Ivan shouldered his shotgun and brushed past him, Gilbert followed, thumbing the silver pistol clipped to his belt.

The pair ventured deeper into the wasteland, keeping an eye out for any abnormal movements. Ivan and Gilbert had both encountered the infected (that's what they called them) on their own. They didn't know much about them, only that a shot or heavy blow to the head was what finally killed them, and the disease spread through contact such as bites and scratches. It was a topic they chose not to discuss. The look, or lack thereof, in those monsters' eyes….it could change a man.

"We will look for survivors," Ivan said lowly as they delved deeper into the maze of rotting concrete buildings. "Those that won't try to kill us." He added sternly.

"The city's long since been stripped clean." Gilbert whispered, noticing their insipid surroundings. All that was left was mere skeletons of buildings and barren streets. "But I'm sure there's a place we can rest for a few days." It would be nice to finally have a roof over their heads, maybe even an actual bed, one with plush pillows and warm blankets-

An absolutely horrendous sound interrupted the German's fantasies as he spun to see a ghoul stumbling towards them, screeching as it's incompetent mind struggled to focus on anything but the _food_ standing in front of it. Ivan fired his gun without hesitation, hitting it in the head, causing the zombie to drop lifelessly to the concrete. The deafening gunshot resonated off of the surrounding buildings, attracting more of the brain dead ghouls. Ivan was firing away before Gilbert even drew his pistol, the albino shot one of the infected as it inched closer to Ivan. The Russian spun at the sound, noticed the body behind him, and sent Gilbert a look of thanks before smashing the butt of his gun into the molted flesh of another ghoul. The zombies came slowly, their numbers growing steadily as they sniffed out the duo. Some were so torn apart they could barely walk, others looked freshly turned with minimal injuries.

"We have to move!" Gilbert shouted over the cacophony of grunts and moans emitting from the monsters. Ivan nodded in agreement, not wanting to waste any more bullets.

The German spotted a hotel out of the corner of his eye, the building was nearly in ruins but it would be sufficient for escape. He bolted towards the shattered revolving door, knowing his partner was right behind him. He hopped through the broken class and reached the door leading to the stairs, kicking it open with a grunt. It swung inwards to reveal a mangled body at the foot of the steps. Yes, it appeared the city was quite a bit more interesting that the unoccupied forest. Gilbert suppressed the urge to vomit and shot up the stairs, Ivan's presence trailing closely behind. A distant groan confirmed they were being followed, some of those things were faster than most gave credit for. Once on the second floor, Gilbert burst through the door and took an immediate right. He felt a pair of sickly slim hands plant themselves on his shoulder, hands that were most definitely not Ivan's. The appendages were gone as soon as they made contact and the German whipped around just in time to see Ivan body slam the infected into the hallway wall. It recovered fairly quickly and the Russian pushed Gilbert towards the nearest open door. Those big, warm, _safe_ , hands steered him into a vacant room and turned to slam and lock the door. They backed away as a series of inhuman knocks sounded on the other side of the door, slowly but surely the pounding subsided and Ivan let out a breath he didn't know he had been holding.

Gilbert stared at the Russian's back in awe, almost envious of the other's willingness to sacrifice himself for the albino's own sake. Ivan turned around, breath ragged. Violet eyes studied the room before landing on him. The larger male cocked his head to the side in a curious manner, running a hand through his hair as he stepped towards the German. Gilbert felt his throat go dry as he watched the way ashen curls fell to frame a strong jawline.

"Gilbert?" The Slav questioned as he took yet another step towards him. "Feeling ok?" The smaller male was frozen as one of those large hands gently cupped his face. Any passage to his airways closed off and his mind began to spin at the contact. "It did not bite, no?" Ivan inquired in that god-awful German. He went about, twisting Gilbert's face this way and that to inspect for bites, scratches, or any other injuries.

" _I'm fine_." He replied bitterly, pushing out of the other man's grip and turning away to obscure his flushed face. Those damn Russians, always so touchy. Ivan just shrugged it off and smiled, used to Gilbert's ever present hostility by now. The German gazed around the dingy hotel, like the rest of the city, it had been stripped clean. The only present pieces of furniture were a dresser and a bed frame. There _was_ a mattress, but it was stained with various yellow, brown, and crimson splotches. Gilbert would rather not know what they were from.

"Help me move this in front of the door," Gilbert commanded as he braced himself on one side of the dresser. Ivan seemed to agree with his idea for he grabbed the other side and the two slid the oak cabinet in front of the wooden door, creating a makeshift barrier. "We should have a little bit of time to stop and catch our breath before we keep moving." The German stated as he shrugged off his pack. From under pale brows, Gilbert could see Ivan take off his ridiculously large trench coat and lay it on the bed. He was still wearing quite a few layers but the albino could see how broad his shoulders were, how taunt the muscles in his back were, how strong his arms-

He turned back to his bag and rummaged through it, searching for food to distract himself with. Ivan joined him, causing Gilbert to nearly jump out of his skin when their hands brushed, sending an electric shock up his arm. The Russian just shot him a confused glance as he pulled a granola bar and small pack of beef jerky from the bag. The German gripped a pack of crackers tightly, pulling them from the bag and snapping it shut.

 _What the hell was he doing?_

All of the sudden it was like every little thing Ivan did had an effect on him. Ok, _maybe_ he had been a bit taken to the Russian before they even made it to Berlin. _Maybe_ he enjoyed sleeping against him a little more than he should, savoring the way their bodies fit together like two pieces of a puzzle. _Maybe_ he could of have been a bit more furtive about pressing butterfly kissed to Ivan's neck. _Maybe_ he stared at his strong facial structure and tall stature for just a bit too long. Just _maybe_ he had developed the slightest bit of feelings for this nuisance of a Russian. God, Ivan was an annoying bastard, but it was hard to look past all the times he sparked a newfound flame of hope in his heart. Even the most childish interactions such as snowball fights, terrible jokes by the fire, or the way he fussed over the most minuscule of Gilbert's injuries helped to lighten the crushing somberness of the apocalypse. The Russian might not know, but his officious behavior did not go unnoticed or unappreciated.

Gilbert leaned against the dresser, opening his crackers with trembling hands, watching as Ivan spread his coat across the mattress so they wouldn't have to sleep directly on it.

The Russian worked quickly, pulling the rest of their blankets atop his coat to construct a makeshift bed. His throat felt tight as he snuck a glance at Gilbert from over his shoulder. Could he be catching on? With the way his face was flushed and how violently he tore himself from Ivan's grip, did he know the Russian's feelings spanned beyond companionship? Feelings of attraction were ones that Ivan struggled with greatly. He had rarely developed them in the past and it was the least of his concerns when growing up. So why were these nagging emotions so prominent now? He tried to blame it on the fact that it was because of how much time they spent alone together, he tried to blame it on his brains last minute attempt at love, knowing the end of the world was just around the corner. He tried, and failed, to blame it on anything but those stunning carmine orbs, pale skin, and snowy locks. Sure, he and Gilbert bickered like hell, they argued over the most microscopic offenses. More than once had the German pinned him to the snow, threatening to slit his throat over the last granola bar. Maybe it wasn't the most happy-go-lucky of relations between them, but that didn't matter, mushy-gushy romance made the Russian want to vomit anyway. It was the banter that kept their travels interesting. Besides, at the end of the day, no matter how bad they fought, no matter how harsh their insults were, Ivan would _always_ hold his coat open and Gilbert would _always_ snuggle against him.

Maybe Gilbert could see right through him, or maybe he really was just sick. His hands were shaking and cheeks were still red. Ivan let out a soft curse in Russian before dropping the last blanket and turning towards the German.

"Are you sure you are ok?" He asked, towering over the smaller male.

"Damnit, Ivan," he hissed, trying to get around the Russian who blocked his path. "I said I'm fine!" He was starting to get frustrated as Ivan stepped in front of him again, violet eyes filled with annoyance and slight concern. Gilbert braced his hands on the larger male's chest with the intention of pushing him away, however the second he made contact he froze. His brain slowed and he was unable to look away from those breathtaking violet orbs.

"I'm…" His hands slid up to grip at the ridiculous scarf. Ivan gently held his shoulders, both subconsciously leaning closer.

" _I…_ " The German's scarlet gaze flickered to a pair of slightly parted, chapped lips. Slowly and oh so carefully Gilbert closed the gap. The kiss was short and a bit chaste, but it made Ivan's heart leap to his throat. The albino leaned away, avoiding his gaze as his hold on the scarf loosened. However, he didn't have the chance to get very far, for the Russian grabbed him by the face and slammed their mouths together in a clash of desperation and passion. Gilbert locked his arms around the other's neck and kissed back with the same, if not more intensity. Ivan gave in to instinct and picked the German up, throwing onto the bed with an almost predatory growl. The broken bed springs of the mattress protest as he climbed atop his prey, wasting no time in ravishing the exposed skin of his neck. The two struggled to remove their many layers of clothing, Gilbert needed touch every inch of Ivan's skin _now_. Ivan, on the other hand was more concerned about dirtying the only garments they owned. Oh god they smelt terrible. Bathing was an extremely rare luxury, one that occurred only when they stumbled across a lake or pond. But the scent was the least of their concerns at the moment, all that mattered was each other. The two were down to nothing but their boxers when Gilbert took the lead. He flipped them over, straddling the Russian's hips to show he wasn't about to submit so easily. They were laughing like idiots and smiling despite their grim situation. For the first time since the infection spread, Gilbert felt true happiness. He smirked that sui generis, absolutely, shit eating grin.

And Ivan was in love.

In the end, the Russian was the one who became dominate, Gilbert didn't mind, he loved to be tossed around, though he would never admit that out loud. Once it was over, the German's exhausted body was strung across Ivan's as he came down from his high, the satisfactory snap of the headboard against cheap plaster still echoing in his mind. The larger of the two ran his knuckles along his lover's nasty scar, gracing his crooked nose with the pad of his thumb. Gilbert rolled off of Ivan in favor of cuddling against him. A strong arm draped itself across his middle, and those large hands (Gilbert was beginning to adore them, so gentle and warm) held him close. Sleep came the easiest it had in a long time that night.

Morning came and the pair was awoken by the sound of skeletal hands scratching just outside of their door. They shared a look and came to a silent agreement; it was time to go. Ivan and Gilbert went about, retrieving their clothing and packing their supplies as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. With one last sweep of the hotel room, the duo departed out the window, using the fire escape to make it safely to the ground. Both were silent, the only difference as they crept through the desolate city was their linked hands.

* * *

Not much had changed since that night in Berlin. However, Ivan and Gilbert kept closer to each other, shoulders brushing when they walked, fingers intertwined when hand in hand, and spontaneous kisses were shared between the two. That and the fact that they made love whenever they could. It was more difficult than they had originally thought to make time for it. But like most things, they made it work. And boy did they let loose when they did.

The pair had been traveling for another two months, stopping by major cities every once in a while and keeping to secluded paths the rest of the time. They encountered the infected more than they would have liked to and scavengers seemed to get worse the further into Germany they traveled. Although they were able to swipe a few useful tools such as a lighter and a metal pipe that Ivan seemed to be quite fond of, their journey wasn't easy. A bit worse for wear, they eventually reached the town of Kassel. Gilbert was as giddy as ever, pulling Ivan down to the Hercules Monument the minute it came into sight.

"My brother and I used to come here when we were young," he said, standing a top of the stair-like structure. He hopped down one of the large inclines and motioned for the Russian to follow. The fountain had long since stopped working, leaving the pathway from the grand castle all the way down to the arches below barren. They reached the bottom of the monument, weaving through the curvature of stone. Ivan sat down against the wall, placing his bags beside him as he admired the view from inside the fountain. Gilbert followed suit, leaning his head on his shoulder and taking his hand in his own. The Russian didn't know how long they sat like that, hand in hand, watching the afternoon sun reflect off the dirtied water at the base of the monument, Gilbert recounting stories of war. The German went on and on about his greatness, sharing the thoughts and feelings he had experienced in the heat of battle. Some Ivan had heard, others were new. Nevertheless, he always listened the same, hanging on to his lover's every word.

A distant, inhuman groan interrupted their moment of serenity. They shared a look and repeated the same process they had gone through hundreds of times; grab their things and _run_. Something was different however, and Ivan felt the need to press a chaste kiss to Gilbert's lips, catching him slightly off guard before they snuck around the base of the fountain.

There were more monsters than they had ever anticipated, at least thirty or forty, too many to fight off. The pair took off towards the city, hoping to find a place to hide. The faster of the infected were right on their heels, teeth clacking, eyes hungry, and mouths spouting incoherent babble as they followed. Their heels pounded against the pavement as they frantically searched for some sort of shelter. Gilbert's knees were staring to feel weak and his throat was burning for much-needed air. A self-storage unit came into view and Ivan made a beeline for it, entering the maze of storage units in hopes of losing the monsters.

"C'mon Gil we're almost there!" He hollered over his shoulder as he started down the row of storage units.

He pulled his pipe from his belt, rushed to the first garage he saw and began to strike the lock as Gilbert covered his back. Behind him, he heard the sound of that shiny silver pistol firing shots at rapid speed. With a final hit, the lock broke and the Russian was able to lift the garage door, turning back to the German with a look of hope.

What he saw, however, made his grip on the pipe loosen, causing it to clatter to the concrete floor, and mouth hang open in a silent scream. There were too many monsters for Gilbert to fight off alone, one had come up behind him, taking a bite out of his neck and ripping a cry of agony from his throat. The German pushed the zombie away and swayed where he stood. Ivan acted quickly, grabbing him by the shoulders and pulling him into the storage unit. He dropped the German on to the floor before shutting the garage door and sliding a dusty coffee table in front of it. Gilbert's pistol had slipped out of his grip and laid ominously beside him as he gasped for air. Ivan dropped to his knees beside his lover and reached out with quivering hands to try and stop the bleeding. Gilbert gripped at his wrists, trying to speak but only spitting up blood as he looked up with the most agonizing expression. Ivan felt tears prickling at the corners of his eyes and he slowly withdrew his hands, unraveling the torn fabric from his neck he balled it before pressing it to the German's wound.

"Please, just hold on a little longer." He begged, using one hand to apply pressure to the gruesome injury and the other to gently lift Gilbert's head into his lap.

" _Ivan…_ " he gasped. "I- you," he knew it was too late for him. It was only a matter of time before the infection spread, turning him to one of those _monsters_. "You h-have to kill me…" he stuttered.

"What?" The Russian gasped. "No! There has to be another way… _please_." He was beginning to become desperate. He couldn't lose Gilbert. He couldn't lose another person he cared so goddamn much about. He couldn't be left alone again. "Maybe you're immune, maybe I could- "

"Ivan. _Enough_." Gilbert's voice was sharp, eyes narrowed despite the look of anguish. "There is no other way, don't you see?" He struggled to sit up, pushing at the Russian's grip, resilient even in his last moments. Ivan let him move, afraid of hurting him further. Gilbert grabbed his pistol with trembling hands, his beloved gun would be the thing that ended it all for him. His gun by Ivan's hands. He tried to shove it into his lover's grip, growing frustrated when the Russian pushed it away.

"Just fucking do it, Ivan!" He hollered out of vexation. The Russian grabbed his blood splattered face, remaining mindful of his injury.

"I can't! I _can't_ lose you!" He cried, tears finally leaking over his waterline and cascading down his cheeks. He searched scarlet orbs for anything at all, anything besides acceptance of death.

"Damnit Ivan," Gilbert whispered, growing weak from blood loss. "Kiss me before I get infected." He didn't need to be told twice. Ivan smashed their lips together, a kiss so similar to their first, desperate and passionate. Ivan dove back in for another, then another. Trying to savor what he knew in the back of his mind to be their last moments together. The German's breathing was shallow as he stared longingly into his lover's eyes when they parted. He knew he needed to do this. The last thing he wanted was to turn into one of those monsters. Even if he did, Ivan wouldn't have the heart to kill him and he would be the one to end the Russian's life. He couldn't let that happen, he would rather die.

"I'm sorry…" He whispered. Ivan was about to question him when a sharp pain shot through his temple, causing him to fall backwards. Gilbert had hit him with the butt of the pistol and squirmed out of his grip. Pulling himself across the storage unit he backed against a stack of boxes and clicked the safety of the gun off.

"No, no, NO! You can't leave me…" Ivan wailed, frantically shuffling towards him, blood smeared hand outstretched. He froze when Gilbert pressed the barrel of the gun against his temple.

" _One more step and I shoot_." One of his gorgeous rubies was screwed shut in pain as his pale features were twisted into an expression of agony. Ivan swallowed thickly as the German twitched slightly, his whole body trembling as it tried to fight off the disease. Never again would the Russian would get to see those eyes, so full of light and determination. Never again would that confident smirk that he fell so hopelessly in love with greet him in the mornings. Never again would he get to hold Gilbert close.

"Ivan, p-please…. listen to me," the German's voice was quiet, such a contrast to his usual vociferous statements. "You h-have to keep going…for me." Ivan was hysterical, his shoulders shaking with silent sobs as his composure was withered down to its most vulnerable state.

"Gilbert," He breathed. "I love you." He did. He loved him so goddamn much it physically hurt. Love was a tricky subject, one that he and Gilbert both tiptoed around expertly. They knew they loved each other, they knew it in the very depths of their souls. But saying it out loud was different from solely feeling it. And by speaking it, Ivan had crossed a line he would never be able to return from. In the end it made the separation that much more excruciating.

Gilbert cracked him one more dirtied, intrepid smile. " _I love you too…"_

And he pulled the trigger.

Ivan screamed. He screamed as if _he_ were the one that had been shot. He didn't even try to hide his pathetic displays of raw emotions as he lunged towards Gilbert's body, scooping up the macabre mess and holding it as if his life depended on it. He sobbed into the German's hair, frantically running his fingers through the once pure silver locks, now stained a sickly crimson. The Russian continued to howl, cradling the corpse and begging, _pleading_ for Gilbert to _wake the fuck up_. The sound of the infected pounding on the garage door was drowned out by his cries of anguish. His volume was probably drawing more and more attention to his location. But he didn't care, he _couldn't_ care. Let them break in. Let them tear him limb from limb, cut flesh from bone, devour him whole. Let them take him like they had taken Gilbert.

Eventually he calmed down enough to collapse against the deteriorating wall of the storage shed, still gripping his lover's body. He tried not to stare at the gaping wounds in both his neck and skull. The exit wound of the bullet was so much worse than the entry, pieces of hair and flesh were matted into the internal flow of scarlet. He could _feel_ the blood oozing from the injuries, coating his hands, arms, clothes. He pulled his shotgun from the holster on his back, contemplating if he should shoot himself right then and there to get it over with. He decided against it, heading Gilbert last wish. Stay alive, for _him_. That was when Ivan brought the gun down against the concrete, creating the first of many dissonant melodies that cried for help. He continued to pound SOS, not sure if he even wanted to be saved.

The gunshots outside fell upon deaf ears. As well as the sound of other human voices and the cries of 'hello, is anyone in there?'. Everything was a blur from then on, the garage door opening, the light flooding the storage unit, the footsteps approaching him. Everything but the hands that reached out to remove Gilbert's body from his lap. He didn't scream, cry, or fight back. Ivan only gripped his lover's corpse tighter, mumbling 'no, no, no' over and over and over again. He wasn't sure what happened after that. He wasn't sure how the group of survivors managed to pry the mangled body away and drag him from the storage unit. Miraculously, he was alive and safe. He was breathing, he could feel, think, eat, sleep, walk. He was physically alive, but far from it in mental terms.

Because when Gilbert died…. a piece of him did as well.

Still, he had to go forth. He had to survive for those breathtaking rubies, those wan locks, that shit-eating grin. He had to survive for him. _For Gilbert_.

 **A/N: The Hercules Monument is a real thing in Kassel Germany, it is very beautiful and hard to describe so I would recommend looking it up. Thank you for reading!**


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